


Jenny Greenteeth

by Suzie_Shooter



Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Established Relationship, Hearing Voices, Hidden Rooms, M/M, Skeletons, Supernatural Elements
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-24
Updated: 2018-01-24
Packaged: 2019-03-08 22:39:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 16,161
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13468047
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Suzie_Shooter/pseuds/Suzie_Shooter
Summary: When Porthos' restaurant business takes a downturn he buys a deserted farmhouse, intending to start an up-market bed & breakfast with his partner Athos. But the house hides a grisly secret and more unexpected dangers may be lurking in the shadows. Is Porthos hearing things, or is something out there watching them - and biding its time until he's alone?





	1. Chapter 1

It was gone two AM when Athos heard the front door quietly open and close, and at first he thought nothing of it. He was upstairs, working on his latest book in the small spare bedroom they'd converted into a study and didn't want to break his train of thought. As he frequently sat up writing well into the early hours and Porthos rarely arrived home before one in the morning, they'd found their routines coincided surprisingly well.

Normally when Porthos got in he would come upstairs to establish whether Athos was asleep and he had to be quiet, but by the time Athos got to the end of his paragraph he realised Porthos hadn't appeared, nor had he heard any further noises to indicate what he might be up to.

Vaguely hoping it wasn't burglars, he made his way downstairs. The kitchen was dark and empty, and at first he thought the lounge was too, until he made out the dim shape of Porthos sitting on the sofa with the lights off, head in his hands. 

Athos experienced a spike of alarm. "Porthos? Is everything alright?" he asked cautiously. To his relief Porthos looked up and managed a smile, albeit a bleak one.

"I fucked up," Porthos said hoarsely. "I've really fucked up Athos."

"What's happened?" Athos came over and sat down next to him, reaching for his hand. Porthos' fingers were cold, and Athos rubbed them gently. He was relieved that Porthos didn't appear to be injured or ill, but couldn't for the life of him think what else might have occurred to produce this look of blank hopelessness.

"You know Albert Hitchen?"

"The restaurant reviewer?" Athos nodded. "What about him?"

"He came in tonight."

"But - that's good isn't it?" Athos asked, puzzled. He was well and happily acquainted with the standard of food that Porthos produced, and the restaurant itself was of a high calibre. "A decent review from him should see you booked solid for the next twelve months."

"That's just it," said Porthos gloomily. "I didn't know it was him. He booked under an alias, and it turns out the picture they use for his by-line is just a stock model, so he can nose about anonymously. Which nobody pointed out to me until after the fact."

"So - what happened?" Athos asked, not without a certain horrified curiosity. It plainly hadn't been good.

Porthos shrugged. "It was my own fault. I'd been having a mare of a night, one of the ovens had broken, stuff got dropped, one of the kitchen porters walked out. You get nights like it sometimes, just nothing goes right. It happens. But it meant I was in a bad mood to begin with, and stressed and - well, you know."

Athos nodded solemnly. Porthos' occasional rages were something to behold, and generally a tactical retreat was in order until they blew over. If you didn't know full well that the man was a pussycat underneath, they could be somewhat alarming.

"I got word that some prick was bothering Connie out front, sending things back, criticising presentation, generally making an arse of himself. I offered to chuck him out, but she's far more professional than me." Porthos gave him a guilty grin, then sighed. 

"Maybe it still would've been okay, but then he ordered the most elaborate dessert on the menu. Takes bloody ages to put together and we were already short-staffed, so I did it myself. Absolutely fucking perfect it was when it went out. And when they cleared the table and I saw the plates come back, he'd taken one mouthful. One. Fucking. Mouthful." Porthos punctuated his words by jabbing a finger painfully into Athos' arm.

"So did he leave wearing it?" Athos asked, capturing his hand and trying not to laugh. He could see Porthos was genuinely upset but there was something horribly funny about it in his re-telling.

"No. Didn't think of that. Bloody should have and all."

"Just as well, or you'd probably have been done for assault. I take it you gave him a piece of your mind?"

Porthos nodded grimly. "More than a piece." He sagged despondently back against the sofa cushions, toeing off his shoes and kicking them across the room. 

"And then he pulled the 'don't you know who I am' thing. You could tell he knew I didn't. Smug bastard. So I had another go at him after that an' all," Porthos added, with a certain vindictive satisfaction. 

"No chance he might see the funny side?" Athos asked hopefully. "I thought chefs were supposed to be stroppy anyway. Isn't it a selling point?"

"You might get away with it if you're Gordon sodding Ramsay. Don't think it's going to work for me somehow. He was hopping mad by the end. Face it, I'm fucked."

"Well there's nothing you can do about it now. Come to bed," Athos coaxed. "Things'll look better in the morning."

Porthos looked unconvinced, but he allowed himself to be shepherded up the stairs with all the fight gone out of him. 

"What'm I gonna do?" he mumbled sadly into Athos' neck later, once safely wrapped in his arms. 

"You carry on as usual," Athos advised. "Forget it ever happened, put it behind you, and carry on doing what you do best. And whatever you do, don't read the bloody review."

\-- 

"I thought I told you not to read it?" Athos scolded, twitching the incriminating newspaper out of Porthos' hands two days later. 

"Since when have I ever listened to you?" Porthos countered, making no attempt to grab it back. Athos saw the defeat in his shoulders and gave him a sympathetic squeeze. Porthos sighed. "I had to know."

"Well, now you do." Athos folded the paper and tossed it aside. 

"Stale, he says."

"Stale?" Athos echoed incredulously, and Porthos summoned up a bitter smile. 

"Not the food. Me. As in - out of fresh ideas, over the hill, yesterday's news."

"Sometimes people like to know what to expect," Athos ventured. "It's comforting."

"Oh so you agree with him then?" Porthos glared at him, and Athos held his hands up.

"I didn't mean that and you know it. Stop trying to pick a fight." 

"Maybe he's right. Maybe I should give up. Sell the place on while there's still something to sell."

"Oh stop talking rubbish. Your regulars know perfectly well how good the place is, and even a bad review's got to generate traffic, even if it's only from curiosity."

Porthos shook his head morosely. "You don't know what it's like. I've seen better reviews than this close a place down. It's a cut-throat business. Always something new opening. If you're not ahead of the game you may as well not bother. I'm sunk." 

"Will you consider taking my advice for once?" Athos asked.

"Depends." Porthos eyed him warily.

"Let's go on holiday."

"Now? Are you mad?"

"Sometimes I think I'm the only sane one in this relationship. Look, it's been what, five years, since we've had a proper break?"

"We've been away," Porthos objected. "Loads of times."

"The odd couple of days here and there," Athos said. "I'm talking about having a whole week somewhere for once. Just you and me. No cooking, no promo, no pesky reviewers."

"I'm sorry Ath." Porthos hung his head, reflecting guiltily on all the times he'd refused to leave the restaurant for more than two nights away, all the times Athos had invited him to join him on book tours and he'd declined.

"I'm not asking you to be sorry. I knew what I was signing up to. One man _and_ his restaurant." Athos nudged his shoulder, and Porthos managed a smile. 

"You saying I'm obsessed?"

"Stressed, more like it," Athos told him. "Go on, how about it? A bit of distance from things might do you good. Give you a bit of perspective back."

"How can I leave everyone in the lurch though? People will say I ran away."

"Fuck 'em," Athos said crisply. "Look, leave Connie to sort out the press, she thrives on that sort of thing. She practically runs the place anyway."

Porthos nodded grudging agreement. Constance Bonacieux was his front-of-house manager, and he had to admit that since handing a lot of the organisational side over to her he'd been enjoying being able to concentrate on the kitchen side of things again. Not that it had done him much good he thought, remembering that everything he'd built up might be about to come crashing down around his ears.

Athos saw his expression fall again and sighed. "Come on. A week won't kill you. Say yes."

Porthos wavered. "Alright. But can we stay in the country? Just - you know. In case."

"Whatever you want," Athos agreed, faintly surprised that Porthos had given in at all. "I'll even leave the book behind."

"You're on a deadline." Porthos looked up in shock.

"So it'll give me the pressure I need to get it finished when we come back," Athos said. "Fair's fair, if I'm dragging you away from your obsession I should at least be willing to do the same. We can actually spend some time together for once. Where do you want to go?"

Porthos shrugged. "Don't know. Don't care. You pick."

"Alright, but you're not allowed to complain in that case."

"Would I ever?" Porthos tried his best to look innocent, then laughed. "Surprise me. I promise I'll be good." 

\--

Seizing the moment before Porthos could change his mind again, Athos immediately booked them into a small family-run hotel in the depths of the Dorset countryside. For the first few days Porthos was noticeably twitchy, constantly checking his phone when he thought Athos wasn't looking and being maddeningly passive-aggressive about everything, until finally one morning he woke up and felt subtly different. 

He found Athos already down at breakfast, and kissed him good morning. Athos squinted at him suspiciously. 

"You look cheerful. Should I be worried?"

"No!" Porthos pouted at him indignantly, then broke into a smile. "You can probably be smug though. I think I'm actually starting to relax. First decent sleep I've had in a long time."

"You look better." Athos studied him critically. "What do you say we go for a walk after breakfast? It's beautiful out there." 

The surrounding farmland was crisp with frost, and their breath puffed out in clouds on the November air as they tramped along the deserted lanes. Having planned out a roughly circular route that would deposit them in the vicinity of the village pub round about lunch time, they were on the downhill stretch when something caught Porthos' eye.

"Hey. Hold up."

Athos looked round to find out why Porthos had stopped, and nearly slid over on an icy puddle. "Shit! What?" 

"Look at that."

Athos looked where he was pointing. A dilapidated old house could be seen over nearest hedge, some distance away. "What did you reckon, haunted or hillbillies?"

"Don't be daft. Don't you think it looks pretty?"

"I think it looks like it's about to fall down. Are we heading to the pub or what?"

"Just a sec. I want to take a closer look." Porthos marched up a narrow turning that looked like it lead towards the house and Athos followed at a distance, muttering to himself. 

"If I hear banjos, I'm out of here."

Porthos had reached a five-bar gate blocking the way, and made another discovery. "Hey look. It's for sale."

"Not surprised." Athos caught up with him, hands stuffed in his pockets and shoulders hunched for warmth. Their walk had taken rather longer than he'd expected, but as it had been him who'd worked out the route he couldn't complain.

"Shall we take a look?"

"It's private property, you can't just - " Athos broke off with a sigh, as Porthos was already climbing over the padlocked gate. 

"Come on, there's nobody here," Porthos called. Up close it turned out to be a small cluster of buildings - a deceptively large rambling house that was half solid farmhouse and half-timber framing, a small stable block and a stone barn. A thin layer of frozen mud covered what seemed to be a decent cobbled yard, and a row of trees to the rear protected the lot from the prevailing winds.

"If you're thinking of moving in, it might be a bit chilly."

Porthos jumped, having assumed Athos was still sulking out in the lane.

"Don't you think it's romantic?"

"If you're turned on by woodworm and dry-rot, I suppose it has a certain charm," Athos allowed, and Porthos gave him an exasperated look. 

"You were the one telling me I should be more positive about things."

Athos looked puzzled. "Okay. Er - while I'm glad you're being positive about random houses, I feel I'm probably still missing your point?"

"I just - think it's got potential. Don't you?"

"As a restaurant?" Athos hazarded. "Bit out of the way."

"No, no. As - well, as a B&B maybe."

Athos stared at him. "What do you know about running a B&B?"

"I can run a restaurant. Chuck a few beds in, can't be that different, can it?"

"Thus neatly encapsulating in one sentence why you shouldn't be considering it," Athos teased. "Come on, I'm freezing my nuts off here, let's get back to the warm."

\--

With a pub lunch and a couple of pints inside him Athos was feeling more well-disposed towards the world, so when he looked round to find he'd lost Porthos somewhere back down the street he retraced his steps with only a minimum of bitching under his breath.

He found Porthos staring intently into the window of an estate agent. 

"Now what?"

"It's here. That house. They're not asking all that much."

"It's not worth all that much," said Athos automatically, then frowned. "Hang on. Are you serious?"

Porthos finally turned to look at him, his expression conflicted. "Kind've, yeah."

"You want to move to the arse end of nowhere and open a bed and breakfast?" Athos put his hands on his hips. "Do you know what I particularly like about being a writer? Ninety percent of it involves no contact whatsoever with the general public."

"I'd deal with front of house. You could - "

"What? Make beds? Clean bogs? Thanks a bunch."

"Nah, we could get a cleaner in. You'd be good at the marketing and stuff though? Handle the bookings?" 

"Oh, I can see perfectly how it would go. It'd be like getting a puppy - end up with me looking after it. You'd piss off to the kitchen and leave me to deal with the complaints and the vomiting children."

Porthos shook his head stubbornly. "We'd be high-end. Boutique."

"Have you been planning this ever since we saw the place?" Athos was taken aback. "I thought you were suspiciously quiet over lunch."

"Been thinking about it, yeah." Porthos sighed. "I dunno - it's just - you were right, you know? Being out here, away from things - it's made me re-evaluate a bit. Running the restaurant's been great, but I've been at it for over a decade now and it's starting to feel like a grind. Maybe it's a sign. Time to sell it off, move on."

Athos listened to this in silence, mulling it over. "It would make more sense to sell the house," he said finally. "Keep ownership of the restaurant so at least you'd have some level of income while we did the place up. What I make'd keep body and soul together if we had nothing else, but it wouldn't stretch to ongoing renovations, not on a place like that."

It was Porthos' turn to look surprised. "Are you serious? You'd really consider it? I didn't like to suggest the house."

"If it comes down to it, I can write anywhere," Athos said. "As long as we could get a decent broadband connection put in, and we'd need that to run a business anyway." He held up a finger as Porthos started to look excitable. "I want to be clear I am talking strictly in theoreticals. It needs looking into properly. But - if you're really serious, then I'm not against the idea. I guess."

"What do you think, then? Honestly?"

"I think we should sleep on it," said Athos firmly. "And I think we should make an appointment to look round properly. Find out all the things the matter with it up front. We'd have to go into this with our eyes open. If there's structural things wrong with it, it could turn into a money-pit. We'd be better off looking for something else."

Porthos threw his arms around him. "I love you. Have I told you that?"

"You've already mentally moved in, haven't you?" Athos groaned, suspecting that all his words of caution had fallen on deaf ears. But he had to admit that Porthos looked happier than he had for weeks, even discounting the disastrous encounter with Hitchen. He didn't believe for a minute that anything would come of it, but a bit of daydreaming never hurt and it would do Porthos good to think about something else for a while.

\--

The following afternoon they made their way back to the house at the appointed time, noting with surprise that there were two vehicles parked outside, a smart Volvo that almost certainly belonged to the estate agent and a battered Land Rover. It transpired this belonged to the farmer who actually owned the place, who'd come along to meet them as well.

"Desperate to get it off his hands," Porthos whispered eagerly, as they all trooped inside.

After a few minutes, he was starting to see why that might be the case, his initial enthusiasm dimming further and further with every room they went into. The place had obviously stood empty for some time, and felt cold and unloved. There'd been birds nesting in one of the bedrooms, and a water tank had clearly burst at one point, with mildew spreading over the damp wall beneath.

Athos was quiet for most of the tour and Porthos felt his heart sinking. Contrary to Athos' cynical assumption, Porthos had been listening to everything he'd said and by now had convinced himself that Athos would never go for it.

Outside again, poking their heads into the barn and for the moment on their own, Porthos cleared his throat. "So. Pretty grim, huh?"

Athos gave a non-committal hum. "It's do-able."

"Eh?" Porthos stopped dead and stared at him. 

"I was afraid it was all subsiding, but I think it's mostly cosmetic. Bung in a few en-suites you could get at least three good-sized double guest rooms out of the main house as well as space for us, and this barn could be another cottage if the first phase didn't bankrupt us." He caught sight of Porthos' stunned expression and raised his eyebrows. "What?"

"I thought you'd veto it," Porthos admitted. "Be honest, you thought it was a mad idea yesterday."

"I did." Athos chewed his lip thoughtfully. "Vague plans scare me, I like to know where I am. But I can see how it might work now. Makes it less terrifying. What we'd get for the London house should be enough to pay for this with enough left over to do it up, if we did most of the work ourselves."

"We couldn't live here yet though, not like it is." Now Athos had all but agreed to it, some perverse instinct was making Porthos throw more obstacles in front of him. "And it'd be a hell of a commute."

"We could pick up an old caravan cheaply enough," Athos mused. "We'd only have to live in it until we got the plumbing and electric sorted - say get the kitchen, bathroom and a bedroom habitable. We should be able to manage that before next winter."

"Do you mean it?" Porthos asked. "You'd really be willing to give it a shot?"

"Would it make you happy?" 

Porthos nodded. "I know it's a sudden jump, but it just feels - I dunno. Right. But not if it's not what you want too?"

"Let's just say I'm starting to come round to the idea," Athos smiled. "It's been nice spending time with you for once." The smile turned into a grin. "That could change rapidly, obviously."

"Oi!" Porthos shoulder-barged him, then threw an arm around his shoulders. "So - are we doing this then?"

"I have conditions."

"Thought you might."

"We get a proper survey done. We get service connections costed up front. And we sell our house first."

"We could get a bridging loan?" Porthos ventured.

"No way. I am not going into this in debt from the start, we have no idea if it'll take off. We're lucky we've got the capital to even consider it, and even then it'll leave us with nothing spare."

"If I stayed on at the restaurant we'd have more - "

"No!" Athos interrupted, half laughing. "The whole point of doing this was to get you away from the place. A fresh start, yeah?"

"You were the one who said I shouldn't sell it outright," Porthos objected. 

"Constance can run the place and d'Artagnan is long overdue for promotion to head chef," Athos pointed out. "He could have left and set up his own place years ago if he wasn't so loyal to you. You can stay on as silent partner and shareholder. Well? Tell me I'm a genius."

Porthos nodded slowly, looking hesitant. "My head says it's a good idea."

"But your control-freaky little heart doesn't want to let go?" Athos guessed. "You can't do both, Porthos. If you're serious about us doing this, it'll take all our energy. If you try and do both you'll just half-arse everything."

"Alright," Porthos agreed, deceptively meekly. "You're probably right."

"Course I am." Athos looked over his shoulder at where the owner and agent were conversing in low tones and shooting them hopeful glances. "I'm going to get him to knock at least ten grand off the asking price though."

"You'll be lucky."

"Come on - the place has got to have depreciated in the time it's been on the market just through dilapidation alone."

"One book set in Morocco and the man thinks he's a haggling genius," Porthos sighed, shaking his head in mock despair.

"Watch and learn," Athos smirked, walking away backwards before striding over to the others to enumerate the place's many faults and problems.

Rather than take Athos up on his offer Porthos wandered off for another look round, and was standing staring into a rather stagnant pond at the rear when Athos came to find him.

"Well?" Porthos asked. "Let me guess, we're paying twenty grand more."

"Fuck you, I got eight grand off."

"Eight? It's not ten though is it?" Porthos teased, and Athos jostled him towards the thick green water. Porthos ducked away, laughing. "I take it all back, you are a genius." Porthos kissed him soundly.

"It's not a fortune, but it's a bit more in the bank to do it up with," Athos mused. "Assuming everything else works out, now we just have to sell ours."

\--

Somewhat to their surprise the initial costings and survey results were if not totally favourable then at least not prohibitive, and they duly put their own home on the market. From there events seemed to snowball faster and faster until it was with a slight sense of breathlessness that they found themselves standing in the cobbled yard on a cold spring afternoon, having taken possession of the keys just four months after they'd first seen the place.

They stared up at the house, which stared back with blank windows and an air of disinterest. Scudding clouds above made it feel like the house was toppling towards them, and Athos suppressed a superstitious shudder.

"Well. This is it. Our new home."

Porthos made a face. "Christ Athos. What were we thinking?"

"Too late now." Athos took his hand and smiled. "Where would you like to start?"

"Cup of tea?"

"Bloody good idea."

\--

Porthos woke on the first morning there and for a second didn't know where he was. Everything was different, the sound of the wind in the trees and the dawn chorus outside, the faintly musty smell of the caravan, the way the whole thing rocked slightly on the particularly strong gusts. 

The only familiar thing was Athos, curled up next to him and still asleep. Porthos propped himself up on one elbow and looked down at him, experiencing a faint wave of guilt. Yesterday they'd been living in a smart two-bedroom London terraced house with a reasonably comfortable lifestyle and all the amenities of the city on their doorstep. Today they were living in a cramped and dated one-room van, with most of their belongings in storage and months of hard work ahead of them in a place where the only people they knew were each other. He was horribly conscious that this had been his idea, and prayed that it didn't all fall apart on them.

Reaching carefully across Athos to open the curtain, Porthos was immediately disheartened to find that it was raining. Not hard, but a fine sweeping drizzle guaranteed to soak through the thickest of clothing and make life generally cold and unpleasant. Somehow he'd pictured all their renovations taking place in brilliant sunshine, and the reality was depressing.

Finding himself unable to fall back to sleep Porthos got up and lit the oil stove so that things would at least be a bit more cheerful for Athos to wake up to. He made himself a mug of instant coffee and pulled the rest of the curtains, staring out at the grey morning and trying to work up the enthusiasm to think about starting work.

"Morning." 

Porthos looked round to find Athos blinking sleepily at him, and smiled for the first time that day.

"Morning. Sleep alright?"

"I did, actually." Athos sat up, sounding surprised. "There any more water in that kettle?"

"Yeah, you want a cup of tea?" Porthos got up and made him one, carrying the mug over to the bed and sitting down beside him.

"You okay?" Athos asked, taking the tea gratefully. 

"Yeah, fine, why?" Porthos said automatically.

"You just looked a bit - pensive, that's all. Or were you just deep in thought?" 

Porthos sighed. "Just wondering if we've done the right thing," he admitted.

"Getting cold feet?" Athos leaned over and kissed him. "It'll be fine. You'll see. And even if it all goes tits up we've still got my royalties and your percentage from the restaurant. We're not going to starve."

Porthos climbed back under the covers with him, gradually feeling his positivity start to return. "You're right," he said firmly. "I mean what's the worst that could happen, eh?"

\--

Most of the first week was spent clearing out years' worth of abandoned detritus from inside the house. The floorboards had been pronounced safe in all but one of the rooms, but with new bathrooms to go in there would be a certain amount of building and plumbing work to be done and for that the place needed to be stripped bare.

After the first couple of days the weather had improved considerably, and they were out in the yard sorting debris into piles of what was scrap and what could be reclaimed when they had their first visitor.

"Now there's a sight for sore eyes." 

Athos followed the line of Porthos' gaze to see a young policeman cycling slowly up the hill towards them. He was dressed in a short-sleeved shirt and tight lycra shorts, and it was clearly the latter that had caught Porthos' attention. 

"Down boy," Athos murmured. "You can get arrested for perving on the constabulary."

"Maybe he'd like to use his handcuffs on me," Porthos whispered, and Athos snorted, suppressing a laugh as they walked over to where the officer was now dismounting.

"Morning. I thought the village bobby on his bike was a thing of the past," Athos called out, leaning on the top of the gate.

"Mountain bikes these days," the policeman replied cheerfully, patting his handlebars. "It can be quicker to get around on, I can take the field paths." 

"Too many hills round here for my liking," said Athos. "Wears me out just thinking about it."

"Good for the thighs," Porthos noted, with an approving glance in the corresponding direction, and the policeman looked slightly startled.

Athos cleared his throat. "I'm Athos de la Fere. This is Porthos du Vallon. We've just moved in."

"Yes, I heard someone had bought the old place, thought I'd swing by and introduce myself. PC Herblay. Call me Aramis," he added. "Everybody else round here does."

"Pleased to meet you." Athos shook his hand. "Has this place been empty long, do you know?"

"Couple of years, I reckon. There was a couple here trying to farm llamas for a bit, but they didn't last. Then some bloke had it growing market garden produce. Did a midnight flit in the end, upped and left owing four months' rent. Left all his stuff behind, just vanished into the night."

"Hopefully we'll make a better go of it," Athos said. "We're opening a B&B."

"Should do well, it's a nice spot." Aramis looked from one to the other of them curiously. "So you're - er - ?"

"Married," Athos supplied, and Aramis nodded.

"Right."

"Hope we're not the only gays in the village," grinned Porthos and Aramis laughed.

"Oh we've got all sorts round here, don't worry. I shouldn't think you'll have any problems. Let me know if there's anything I can help with, if you need any advice on local builders and so on. I won't keep you though, I can see you're busy." 

After passing them his contact details and exchanging a few more pleasantries he cycled away again, Porthos watching his rear end until it was out of sight, mainly to wind up Athos. Athos ignored this on principle, and wandered off to find something more productive to do. Porthos found him in the shell of the kitchen, kicking dubiously at the base of the old dresser and wondering if it had woodworm.

"You ever considered taking up lycra?" Porthos asked innocently.

"Haven't got the legs for it," Athos replied vaguely. "Do you reckon this would look alright if we varnished it?"

"I think you should let me be the judge of that," Porthos said, coming up behind him and wrapping his arms around Athos' waist, sliding his hands beneath the hem of Athos' t-shirt to skim across his warm belly.

"Well, yes, that's why I asked."

"Eh? Not the dresser, you plum. Lycra. I happen to think you've got very nice legs."

"Well thank you, but I'd prefer to keep my plums unsweaty, if it's all the same to you." Athos registered the fact there was now a very definite erection pressed into the small of his back and turned to look at Porthos in amusement. "Christ, has one tightly-wrapped officer of the law really made you this horny?"

"Must be the country air," Porthos grinned. "Come on, how about it?"

"We'll never get anything done at this rate," Athos complained, but he let Porthos lead him off towards the caravan with only a token resistance. In London Porthos had frequently been too tired and distracted for sex, and this was a surprising if welcome development.

"Maybe we should get a sign made," Porthos suggested, as they climbed the makeshift steps. "If the caravan's rocking, I'm putting me cock in."

"You're all class, you know that?"

\--

Renovations soon took off apace, and while the major roofing and building work was being tackled by a shifting population of contractors there was still plenty to keep both of them occupied in hard labour.

Despite the fact the air constantly vibrated to the various sounds of nail guns, hammering, sawing and swearing, Porthos found there was somehow a penetrating silence about the place that after the background hum of life in London took some getting used to.

Frequently he found himself listening for non-existent traffic, or waiting to hear the sounds of someone else's television though the walls. After a few days of this strange tension he'd asked Athos if he was experiencing this same thing, but Athos had just looked at him oddly and declared he was enjoying the peace and quiet. 

Porthos let the matter drop, assuming that he'd just been more used to working in noisy and bustling surroundings, but he found he couldn't shake the feeling of constantly straining to hear something being said just out of earshot.

One morning, working alone upstairs sanding the floorboards of what would become their new bedroom, Porthos thought he heard his name being called.

"Hello?" Porthos turned off the sander and pulled down the scarf he'd tied over his nose and mouth. "Athos? That you?" 

For a moment he heard nothing, then to his surprise a distinct giggle came from out in the hallway.

"Who's there?" There was no answer, so Porthos walked over to the door and looked out. The upstairs passage was deserted, and through the window across the landing he could see Athos moving around outside in the yard below, so it couldn't have been him calling. 

Thinking he must have imagined it, Porthos was about to return to his sanding when he heard it again, a bubbling ripple of suppressed laughter followed by the scuffling of feet across bare boards, this time coming from the room immediately behind him.

"Hello?"

Nothing but silence, and the old house creaking around him in the wind.

Assuming someone was playing silly buggers he marched back into the room he'd been working in, but it was just as empty as he'd left it. Picking up the sander with a shrug he was about to resume working when he checked in surprise, staring at the floor. 

Previously the boards had been covered in a fine layer of sawdust from where he'd been sanding. Now, that layer had been disturbed as if something had walked through it. 

His first assumption was that a bird had somehow got in, until a glance at the windows told him they were all firmly closed.

Shivering, he went downstairs and was glad when Athos suggested breaking for lunch.

"Did you hear anything odd this morning?" Porthos asked casually, while they were eating. 

"Like what?"

"Voices. Or footsteps."

Athos shook his head. "I was out the front all morning, I'd have heard anyone passing in the lane. Nobody's been near the place."

Porthos fell quiet, not quite liking to say that he'd meant inside the house itself. Athos obviously hadn't heard anything out of the ordinary, and he was coming to the conclusion that he'd imagined it all. He'd spooked himself, working alone in the empty, echoing rooms. 

The wind must have blown the sawdust about, that was all. Maybe it was whistling through a broken pane somewhere, and that was what he'd heard. The sooner they got the double glazing in the better. Athos was right, there was nobody here but them.

\--


	2. Chapter 2

Unsettled despite himself, Porthos was glad when that evening Athos suggested walking down into the village to have supper in the pub. The cosy lamplight, roaring log fire and surrounding buzz of conversation put him in a much better frame of mind, and he was soon beaming with good cheer inside and out.

Spotting them from across the bar, PC Herblay raised his pint in greeting and wandered across. 

"Hello you two. How're you settling in?"

"Good thanks," Athos said, and Porthos nodded agreement. 

"Hard work though."

"Never hurt anyone," Aramis laughed. "Mind if I join you?"

"Go ahead." Porthos pushed out a chair and Aramis settled in to listen with tolerant good humour to Porthos expand at length on the various tribulations they'd faced so far.

"So - how did you two meet?" Aramis asked after a while, amused by the way first impressions suggested the two men were of widely differing personalities. Porthos had done most of the talking thus far, whereas Athos had come across as reserved to the point of shyness - but to his surprise it was Athos who volunteered the answer.

"My publisher hired Porthos' restaurant for a book launch. Despite never having heard of me he was intrigued enough to emerge from the kitchen to see what all the fuss was about," Athos smiled.

Aramis suddenly slapped the table, making them jump. "Athos de la Fere! I knew I'd heard that name before. You write murder mysteries!"

"Amongst other things. But they tend to be the ones that sell."

"My mother's a fan." Aramis abruptly looked embarrassed. "Sorry, that sounded - I mean - "

"It's okay." Athos waved away his apologies with a laugh. "I don't imagine they'd stand much scrutiny by the actual force."

"I don't like to take the job home with me," Aramis said. "So you're safe there. I guess you can't get away from yours though?"

"It does tend to get a bit all-consuming," admitted Athos. "I'm quite enjoying being able to concentrate on doing something completely different for once. We both are."

"Are you working on anything at the moment?" Aramis asked. "My mother'll kill me if I don't ask," he explained with a sheepish smile.

"Just managed to get a final draft of one off to the publisher before we moved," Athos told him. "It'll be quite a while before it hits print though, I'm hoping that we can break the back of the work on the house before I have to disappear off promoting it."

Despite the nearby log fire Porthos shivered, the thought of being left alone in the house somehow less appealing that it once was.

"Goose on your grave?" Aramis asked, noticing the shudder.

"You what?" Porthos stared at him.

"It's - just a saying," Aramis faltered. "You looked spooked."

"Oh. Are there any kids nearby?" Porthos asked, abruptly changing the subject. "To us, I mean? Kept thinking I heard one," he explained, when Athos gave him a puzzled look. "Just wondered who our neighbours were."

"Nobody really between you and the village," Aramis mused. "But kids do tend to roam. The local ones are mostly harmless though, if you're worried about trespassers?"

"No, no it's fine," Porthos mumbled, conscious that Athos was still looking at him curiously. "I think I must have imagined it." He got to his feet, reaching for his wallet. "So, another round?"

\--

A couple of days later Porthos was busy stripping off old plaster, working alone in a rather dark room at the back of the house overlooking the murky pond. It was either going to be one of the guest rooms or the communal dining room, but due to its awkward shape they couldn't agree on what would be the best fit.

At first Porthos assumed Athos had turned on a radio somewhere. There was the faint sound of singing that seemed to fade in and out, before finally ending on the same burst of girlish laughter and scampering footsteps that he'd heard before.

"Who's there? Athos, is that you?" Not that it had sounded remotely like any combination of noises Athos was likely to produce, but as far as Porthos knew there was no-one else on site today. 

The noises immediately stopped, but the silence that followed felt distinctly like someone was nearby listening and holding their breath, rather than the mere absence of noise.

Suddenly the singing came again. This time it was a definite snatch of nursery rhyme and Porthos ran out of the room in search of its source. 

No matter which room he looked into the lilting song was always somewhere up ahead. He thundered down the corridor and Athos looked up in surprise from where he was pulling up weeds around the open front door.

"Where'd she go?" Porthos asked, out of breath.

"Who?" Athos stared at him as though he was mad, and Porthos was starting to think he might be right. 

"Little girl," he panted.

"What little girl?"

"Right here. Just now. She was singing. You must have heard?"

"No?" Athos straightened up, looking confused. "Porthos have you been working too hard?"

"But you must have seen her!" Porthos sounded desperate even to himself. "She must have run right past you!"

"What did she look like?" Athos asked, as if this might have made a difference.

"I - well, I don't know. I didn't actually see her myself," Porthos admitted lamely.

"Uh huh."

"She was here!" Porthos insisted. "She must come up from the village. Maybe she wandered in the back. Probably been playing here for years, while it's been empty. Not safe, really, when you think about it."

Athos was still giving him a funny look. "Porthos that back door hasn't been opened in years. Put my shoulder to it earlier, couldn't move it an inch. I was thinking we'll have to take it off its hinges, maybe get it replaced."

"Don't be daft." Porthos marched out through the kitchen and rattled the doorhandle. "It's locked."

"No it isn't. I told you, I tried it earlier. It's just stuck."

Porthos backed up a pace and ran at it. With a screech of wood on stone it shuddered open and he squeezed out through the resulting gap triumphantly. "There you go."

"Oh, that little girl. The one built like a six foot brick shithouse," said Athos dryly. "You should have said."

"You know sarcasm's the lowest form of wit right?" Porthos growled, stung by his tone and more than slightly confused and embarrassed. He had heard something, he knew he had, but he also couldn't account for the fact that Athos apparently hadn't. He stalked back to work without another word, oblivious to the concerned expression on Athos' face as he watched him go.

\--

Lying in bed that night in the caravan, Athos finally plucked up the courage to ask about the thing that had been bothering him.

"Porthos - I know we always said we didn't want children - have you changed your mind?"

"What?" Porthos blinked at him. "No?" He frowned. "Why, have you?"

"No, no. I just - thought maybe - maybe you had."

Porthos sat up and stared at him. "What, you think me hearing kids running about the place is some kind of subliminal message telling me I want some now?"

"Is it?"

"You never wanted any."

"I know. But that doesn't mean I wouldn't be willing to have the conversation again if you've changed your mind."

"Well - I haven't." Porthos shook his head. "That's not what this is about. I promise."

"Okay." Athos lay down again. After a moment Porthos settled down too, and for a while they lay there in silence, staring up at the pattern of moonlit leaves moving on the ceiling of the caravan.

"Do you think I'm going bonkers?" Porthos asked suddenly.

"You _are_ bonkers. Since when's that been up for debate?"

"You still love me though, right? Even if you think I'm bonkers?" There was enough uncertainty threaded through Porthos' jokey tone for Athos to roll over and spoon up against him, draping an arm around him to squeeze him tight.

"I love you _because_ you're bonkers." 

"That's alright then," Porthos sighed, settling down to sleep more happily. In an uncertain world Athos had been his rock for years, and as long as that remained unchanged he felt he could cope with anything life threw at him.

\--

The following day they were inspecting the roof repairs from the vantage point of the top of the stone boundary hedge when a police car pulled up next to them and Aramis got out.

"No bike today?" Porthos grinned, jumping into the road and holding up a hand to help Athos climb down after him.

"Couldn't manage this on the bike," Aramis told them, hauling a wicker basket out of the back of the car. "I've got a present for you. Courtesy of the parish committee."

"Could they not bring it themselves?" Athos asked, surprised that a policeman should be pressed into such inconsequential service.

"Ah, well." Aramis looked mildly embarrassed. "Some of the old-timers round here, they're quite - traditional."

"You mean homophobic," Porthos guessed, but Aramis shook his head.

"Not exactly. They don't object to you being here - they're _glad_ you're here, glad the place is being lived in and not left to fall down, or sold off as a holiday cottage. See, they wanted to send you a house-warming present. They just didn't - look, I'm guessing they probably felt they wouldn't know what to say to - "

"A couple of queers?" Athos put in acidly, and Aramis cleared his throat. 

"I wouldn't have put it quite like that. Anyway, here I am, as the middle-man, so to speak. You will accept it in the spirit it's meant, won't you?" he asked anxiously. 

"Course we will," Porthos said hurriedly, before Athos could decline on principle. "What is it, anyway?" He'd heard the basket clanking and was hoping it was something alcoholic. He wasn't to be disappointed.

"Cider," Aramis announced, lifting the bottles out. "From the village's own orchard."

"You'd better extend our thanks," Athos said, with a certain frostiness still in his voice. "We wouldn't want to alarm anyone by thanking them in person, obviously."

Aramis sighed. "Look, this isn't London. Honestly, nobody gives a toss what goes on as long as it doesn't scare the horses, but it'll take people a while to get used to you. And that would go for any incomers, believe me. You're doing the right things - shopping in the village, drinking in the pub - and more importantly not trying to take over." He grinned. "Trust me, not everyone who moves here gets a welcome gift. At least not a nice one."

Athos raised a glimmer of a smile. "I suppose on balance a bottle of cider beats a dead crow nailed to the door."

"You're getting the idea." Aramis grinned. "You're honoured, they want you to stay."

"Will you join us for a drink?" Porthos offered, feeling more charitable now, but Aramis regretfully declined, climbing back into his car.

"I get a certain amount of leeway afforded to me on this patch, but drinking on duty's still a no-no." He drove off with a wave and they watched the car vanish into the deep-sided lane burrowing its way towards the village. 

"This place gets weirder by the week," Athos grumbled, following Porthos and the basket towards the caravan. They pulled a couple of chairs outside and settled down in the sun for some much needed lunchtime refreshment. 

"This is nice," Porthos hummed contentedly. "I can picture us sat out here in the summer, can't you?"

"We just need to turn the garden into a - well, garden," Athos pointed out, the land surrounding the house having been variously llama pasture and commercial vegetable beds in recent memory and mostly comprising rough grass.

"We'll have to drain that pond for a start," Porthos said. "It'll be swarming with midges and mozzies in summer, there can't be any fish or anything living in it. It'd make a good barbeque pit, what do you reckon?"

Athos snorted. "Can we maybe finish the house before we start building anything else?" 

"No vision, that's your problem," Porthos told him, happily draining his bottle and reaching for another one.

"I reckon much more of this cider and I'll lose my vision entirely," Athos declared. "That or start speaking in tongues as I crawl to bed."

"As long as you crawl in my direction."

"Don't they call this stuff cripple-cock?" Athos asked, immediately having to hold his bottle away from Porthos who tried to take it away from him. "Bugger off."

"I'm not risking you impairing your performance." Porthos grinned. "I reckon I should drink the lot, save you from yourself."

"And who's going to save me from you?" Athos swallowed the last mouthful and tossed the bottle in a wide arc that ended with a splash in the pond.

"Litter-lout."

"If you feel that strongly about it, you could always wade in and get it back," Athos suggested helpfully.

"Yeah, maybe not. Reckon that sludge'd dissolve me feet." 

With the sun gone behind a cloud they retreated into the warmth of the caravan, still contentedly bickering. 

Behind them, a brief series of bubbles broke the scummy surface of the pond where the bottle had sunk. For a moment all was quiet, then without warning the bottle suddenly shot out again, rolling to a rest in a clump of reeds. 

The ripples gradually died away, and the surface was still.

\--


	3. Chapter 3

"Right, I've got a proposal for you." Porthos announced, leading Athos into the room at the back where he'd been working. "Don't say no till you've heard me out."

Athos looked narrowly at him. "Why am I worried?"

"Nah, look, you know we've always said this corner's weird?" Porthos gestured at the awkward angle the wall made at the back of the room. "Well I've been measuring. It don't appear in the next room, or upstairs."

"It must be structural. Built round a column or something."

"That's what I thought. Except - look here, where I've been taking the plaster off. The blockwork's different."

"So?"

"So it's a later addition. I reckon it's hollow. We could take the whole thing down and make the room a better shape, or just knock a hole though and extend the wall line a bit, and make it an en-suite." Porthos looked pleased with himself "What do you reckon?"

"I reckon we shouldn't go knocking walls about that weren't included on the planning application," Athos said quellingly. "Particularly ones that might bring the whole first floor down on our heads."

"It's not load-bearing, I'd stake my left testicle on it." 

"Porthos you're a chef, not a structural engineer." Athos winced as Porthos picked up a sledgehammer and swung it at the wall. "Will you stop that? For fuck's sake."

Porthos ignored him, knocking more of the old plaster off to expose the stonework and prove his point. "Look, you can even see where the join is," he said triumphantly. "This has definitely been filled in at some point."

"Probably for a good reason. It's probably the cess-pit drain. Look, we can't go bashing the place about like this, we don't know what's connected to what."

"You're so bloody cautious," Porthos complained. "Where's your sense of adventure?"

"Wishing it was still living in centrally-heated comfort in London," Athos snapped and Porthos glared at him.

"It's amazing you ever get out of bed in the morning really. I'm telling you - "

"Oh just do as you fucking please then, you always bloody do anyway." Athos stormed off and slammed the door behind him, causing a bit more plaster to fall off the wall. Just as riled, Porthos snatched up the sledgehammer again, swung it back and let fly.

A few therapeutic smashes later and he was feeling decidedly better, especially when several blocks crumbled through into a void beyond, thereby proving his point. Feeling vindicated, Porthos bashed out a couple more for good measure, then went to find a torch.

He shone it through the head-sized hole, trying to make out what lay beyond. The falling stonework had stirred up a lot of dust, and things gradually came into focus as it settled. Porthos saw rough stone walls and a narrow hollow space that was deeper than he'd expected, and he worked out that it must run under the main staircase.

As his eyes adjusted to the gloom and the dust continued to clear, Porthos realised the space wasn't completely empty. There was a small wooden table, and beyond it something else, a chair perhaps, with something propped in it.

Porthos brought the torch to bear on the contents of the chair, and got the shock of his life. Grinning back at him in the thin beam of light was a human skull.

"Jesus Christ!" Porthos jerked back instinctively and promptly fell over the sledgehammer he'd left lying on the floor. 

"Ow. Fucking thing." Porthos scrambled back to his feet and retrieved the torch, which thankfully was still working. He edged back to the hole gaping blackly in the wall and made himself look again, just in case he'd somehow imagined it, or it had been a trick of the light.

To his consternation the skull was still there, grinning unpleasantly. Now he looked properly he could see it was a complete skeleton, wrapped in the rotting remains of the clothing that had apparently held it together. The skull had slipped sideways at some point so it was looking directly at the spot where Porthos had broken through, the jaw bone sagging away from the rest and giving the unfortunate impression it was laughing at him.

Suddenly Porthos couldn't bear to be alone with it a moment longer.

"Athos! Athos!"

Athos appeared at a run, clearly assuming Porthos had managed to injure himself. When he found him unharmed and in one piece, he resumed his earlier air of irritation. "What's the matter now? What have you done?" Glaring at the hole in the wall that hadn't been there when he left.

"Come and look at this." The urgency in Porthos' voice made Athos do as he asked without further argument, taking the torch with a frown and shining it through the gap.

"Bloody hell." All arguments forgotten Athos looked round at him, shaken. "Is that real?"

"What do you think? No-one's going to wall up a plastic skeleton, are they?" Porthos asked, annoyed that Athos' reaction had been much less embarrassing than his, and distinctly glad Athos hadn't been there to witness it. Snatching the torch back he wriggled in to have another look. "Here, do you think this is what I've been hearing?" 

Athos shoved him back out of the way again on general principles. "Hold that torch steady." He peered back through the hole, then registered what Porthos had just said and looked at him in bemusement. "You what?"

"Could be a ghost?" Porthos explained hopefully. "The little girl I've been hearing? Maybe she wanted to be found?"

"Putting all paranormal arguments aside, that is not the skeleton of a little girl," Athos pointed out.

Porthos subsided for a moment. "Oh, yeah. Well it could be a woman though?" he offered, reluctant to let go of his theory. "Or - hang on, wait, do you think this is the guy Aramis said went missing? The one who lived here before us?"

"No," said Athos, examining the blockwork. "That was two years ago at the most, and this looks a lot older. Decades at least, if not hundreds of years." He straightened up and sighed. "We'd better call him though. Aramis, I mean."

"Why?" asked Porthos in surprise. "If you're right about the wall it don't look like a hot-off the press murder case. I don't think Aramis is going to care whodunnit."

"Human remains," Athos explained. "You have to inform the police, however old they are."

"How do you know that?"

"Porthos I write murder mysteries for a living, you'd be amazed at the weird shit I know."

\--

Athos' mood wasn't improved by the fact he had to trudge almost to the top of the hill before he could get reception on his phone. The one point of relief was that he had Aramis' direct number and wouldn't have to explain their discovery to a bemused call-centre operator somewhere. 

Aramis was startled enough, but thankfully believed him and promised to sort something out right away. Having rung off, Athos only then realised he'd have to stay where he was or risk missing the call back, so he found a dryish patch of ground and sat down to wait with a sigh.

It was at least a view worth appreciating. The valley was spread out before him with the village nestled at the bottom, smoke curling invitingly from the chimneys of the pub. Faint sounds of cawing drifted up to him from the jackdaws circling the church tower and somewhere closer at hand a blackbird was singing. 

He followed with his eyes the dark line of trees marking out the little river and the four winding roads that converged on the village from the points of the compass, before tracing in reverse the line of the sunken lane that snaked up towards the house.

Daylight was fading fast now, and there was a light showing in the caravan that suggested Porthos had retreated inside. The outer buildings were dark, but light was also spilling from the main house, a distant hum meaning Porthos must have got the generator going.

Athos let his gaze roam around the rest of the grounds, picking out the line of the hedge, and an oddly shaped patch of shadow that took him a moment to recognise as the pond because it was the same shade as the surrounding grass. He was reminded of stories of unwary travellers sinking forever into mires because they'd mistaken the smooth surface of a bog for solid ground. 

It was an unpleasant thought coming on the heels of their gruesome find, and he shivered. Porthos was right, the sooner that pond was drained the better. He'd just started looking for other spring lines, wondering if they could divert a source of fresh water to revive it into something more wholesome when his phone rang, making him jump.

To his relief it was Aramis calling back already, reporting that a team would be with him as soon as possible and not to touch anything in the meantime. With these instructions in mind Athos hurried back down the hill, conscious that Porthos was both inquisitive and impatient at the best of times, and worried that he'd get back to find the skeleton laid out on their new kitchen table.

Thankfully he found all as he'd left it and Porthos firmly ensconced in the caravan with the curtains drawn. Athos privately wondered if Porthos had been creeped out being left alone in the gathering dark with it, but he kept his thoughts to himself, knowing Porthos would get prickly if he dared suggest he might be scared of anything. Athos was just grateful they didn't have to sleep in the same building with it tonight.

The police forensic team arrived in under an hour, accompanied by Aramis who took a formal statement then bombarded them with off the record questions and speculation, declaring it was the most interesting thing to happen in the village in years. 

It was nearly midnight by the time the police circus packed up and left, taking the skeleton with them but leaving the house off limits until they could come back to finish off in daylight.

Dog-tired but too wound up to sleep, Athos and Porthos sat up drinking brandy and dissecting the day's events. 

Porthos, heartily relieved that no questions had been raised as to whether he should have been knocking the wall down in the first place, had gone so far as to venture to Aramis his ghost theory about the little girl he'd been hearing, ignoring the eye-rolling this had generated from Athos.

"At least someone round here's taking me seriously," Porthos needled now, as the conversation circled back round to it.

"He was humouring you," Athos said. "You do realise that?"

"You might be a bit less bloody sceptical if you'd heard her yourself."

Finally realising he was serious Athos relented and put an arm around him. "I'm sorry. But you don't really think it's a ghost, do you?"

"I dunno. Maybe it'll stop now anyway, whatever it is?" Porthos said hopefully.

"Maybe." Athos kissed fondly him on the temple. "Either way, look on the bright side. Even if they exist, I'm pretty sure ghosts can't hurt you."

\--

To their exasperation the house remained out of bounds for another week until the police finally declared they could resume works. The delay seemed to have less to do with their discovery being of any urgent import, and more that having established the remains weren't at all recent, the case had sunk to the bottom of the pile in terms of priority.

Porthos was doubly frustrated by the fact that just as they were given the all-clear, Athos announced he needed to go up to London for a meeting with his publisher. 

"They can't expect you to drop everything every time they've got a question," Porthos grumbled, following Athos round the caravan as he threw things into a bag.

"Well if the damn telephone line was connected I wouldn't have to, would I? I could do it via Skype. As it is, I'll have to go in person."

"It's not my fault it's not in yet," Porthos said defensively. "You know what utility companies are like."

"I didn't say it _was_ your fault," Athos countered impatiently. "Look, I'll be back tomorrow morning."

"Tomorrow!"

"I won't be done until late. I am _not_ driving all the way back here in the dark Porthos. I'll stay at Mary's."

"But - "

"Surely you can cope without me for half a day?" 

"Yeah, don't be stupid." Porthos looked mutinous, not wanting to admit how unappealing he found the idea of spending a night alone here. 

"Oh look, come here." Athos held his arms out and pulled Porthos into a hug. For a moment they held each other close, then Athos kissed Porthos firmly on the lips and was gone.

Feeling rather forlorn, Porthos watched him drive out of sight. It was dawning on him that he was effectively trapped here now - in London they hadn't needed a car, and had only bought one when they'd moved down. With Athos gone he was stuck here until the following morning at the earliest. 

Maybe they should get a second one Porthos thought, although he knew they could hardly afford the additional cost, and that the infrequent times they'd need two hardly justified the expense.

He shook his head, turning firmly away from the empty road and pulling himself together. It was only a twenty minute walk into the village if it came down to it, he was hardly in the middle of nowhere.

Walking into the main house it felt cold and echoey, and Porthos found he had no desire to go and see what state the police had left things in. Of course, as soon as he recognised his own reluctance he had to make himself go in there on principle, just to prove he wasn't afraid.

To his relief there was nothing much to see - the wall had been taken down right to the floor and a gap made wide enough for people to get in and out, the furniture found inside brought out and standing harmlessly against the opposite wall. 

Porthos sighed. Hidden rooms and mysterious corpses were somehow less appealing when they were in your own home, and he envied Athos getting to spend a night away in London. Belatedly he realised he probably could have gone too, and kicked himself for not thinking of it in time. He'd promised to keep his distance from the restaurant at least for a while, if only so d'Artagnan didn't feel Porthos was looking over his shoulder, but there'd have been nothing stopping him dropping in for a chat.

Trying to put all lingering misgivings out of his mind, Porthos knuckled down to some hard labour. For a while it worked; since they'd embarked on trying to do most of the internal works themselves he'd discovered a talent for DIY, and he particularly enjoyed the parts that involved stripping, ripping, breaking or otherwise removing things. 

In lieu of the radio that he'd forgotten to bring over from the caravan, he started humming to himself, peeling off satisfyingly long strips of terrible old woodchip wallpaper. It was a while before he noticed that the tune he was humming was no longer the pop song he'd had stuck in his head since breakfast, but the same old-fashioned rhyme he'd previously heard lilting through the empty rooms.

He fell silent, then wondered with a chill if it was his only imagination that made him hear the same tune still being hummed by someone else for a second longer.

Porthos swung round, but the room was empty. He sighed, assuming that his mind was playing tricks on him - until he looked down.

"What the hell?" 

A watery trail lead across the bare floorboards towards him. To his apprehensive and creeped-out state of mind, they looked uncomfortably like footprints. He glanced automatically at his own feet but they were bone dry and in any case it hadn't been raining when he'd come in. Maybe something was leaking he thought, noticing that the trail lead under the door from the passage.

He took a step forward, then froze. He'd distinctly heard a floorboard creaking on the other side of the door. 

Porthos realised he was holding his breath. He walked quickly and quietly across the room, listening intently. More subtle creaking from outside, as if someone was walking along the hallway towards him, just as quietly.

Flexing his fingers nervously, he slipped his hand round the doorhandle and took a firm grip, swallowing against a suddenly dry throat. Steeling himself, Porthos yanked the door open then jerked backwards in alarm when the doorway he'd fully expected to be empty was filled with a looming figure.

"Woah!" 

"Oh, Jesus." Porthos grasped the doorframe weakly. "You scared the shit out of me."

"Sorry." Aramis gave him an apologetic grin. "The front door was open and you haven't got a knocker. I was just passing, and I'd been meaning to drop in. Is this a bad time?"

"No. No!" Porthos said hastily, in case Aramis went away again. "Have you got time for a cup of tea?"

"Love one, thanks."

"Athos not around?" Aramis asked curiously, once they were settled in the caravan with steaming mugs and a packet of biscuits.

Porthos shook his head. "He's gone up to London for a meeting. He turned in a final draft of a new book just before we came down here, they'll have a thousand questions for him by now."

"That'll be a long day then."

"He's staying the night with his publisher. She's got a massive place in Highgate, which just goes to show the smart money's in producing the things, not in writing them in the first place."

Aramis looked mildly inquisitive. "It doesn't bother you? Athos spending the night away with a woman?" 

"That's a nasty suspicious mind you've got there," Porthos laughed. "Nah. Besides, she's about a hundred and six."

"Sorry, I didn't mean to imply anything," Aramis said. "I just thought - if I'm not speaking out of turn - you seemed a little preoccupied about something."

Porthos rubbed his chin meditatively, debating the wisdom of saying anything that might make him sound stupid. "I think the quiet's just getting to me a bit," he admitted finally. "I keep thinking I hear a child about the place, singing and stuff. Probably just a local kid winding me up."

Aramis shook his head slowly. "Doubt it. As I said, there's not many young families in the village, certainly none up this end." He smiled. "That was one of the reasons people were glad to see you two move in."

"I don't know that we'll be contributing any children to the place," Porthos said awkwardly, but Aramis waved this away, looking embarrassed.

"Oh I didn't mean that as such. Just - you know. Young blood. Keep the village traditions going."

"Like what?"

"Well, you know. Harvest festival, that sort of thing."

"Right," said Porthos, wondering if this meant they were expected to start attending the church services.

"Actually, that reminds me what I wanted to see you both about," Aramis said. "The skeleton in your closet, so to speak. It's definitely not the source of any little ghost girls. The report just came back - your mystery skeleton's male, aged late sixties to early seventies. And about two hundred years old."

"Blimey." Porthos looked impressed. "He's been in there all that time. Must've pissed someone off."

"That's the weird thing," Aramis said. "They analysed the blockwork, the way it had been put together and so on, and the stuff they found inside the chamber. They reckon it was walled up from the inside."

"What do you mean?"

"He did it himself. Bricked himself in."

"Why the hell would you do that?"

"Haven't got a clue. Hiding from someone maybe? Horrible way to go though, all alone in the dark like that. Did he do away with himself I wonder, or just starve?" 

"Better than being murdered I guess," Porthos said dubiously. "Still, not very nice. And like you say, that shoots my ghost theory down doesn't it. Oh well, I guess it was daft anyway. Just a fancy."

"How long exactly have you been hearing these voices?" Aramis asked.

"Since just after we moved in - " Porthos broke off abruptly as the implications of what Aramis had said sank in. "No, it's not - it's not like that. It isn't."

"Okay. If you're sure."

"Course I'm sure!" Porthos stared at him, suddenly wondering if Athos had been thinking the same thing. It would explain some of the looks he'd been getting, not to mention the way Athos would go from irritated with him to suddenly painfully patient.

"It's not in my head," Porthos insisted quietly "At least - not like that." He sighed. "I can't get used to the quiet out here. It hit me, you know. I don't think I've ever been properly alone my whole life. I grew up in a children's home, and you can imagine what the privacy was like there. When I left I was working as a kitchen porter in the evenings and at catering college all day. Lived in a succession of flat shares, eventually moved in with Athos. There was always someone around, you know? Even if it was only next door. Now here we are in the middle of nowhere and I can't get used to it."

Porthos sighed. "I guess it'll be okay once we've got people staying. And Athos seems to like it. I guess it's always been a solitary thing anyway, what he does for a living. He likes peace and quiet, it helps him concentrate. I'm the opposite, I need background noise. I think - I think maybe the silence is making me hear things."

"Have you talked to Athos about how you're feeling?"

Porthos shook his head. "This - all this, moving here - was my idea. He gave up a comfortable life to follow my latest obsession, and - I don't feel like I can be too negative about it, you know?"

"How long have you been together?"

"Nearly seven years. Married for five of them."

"Well I've not known him long, but Athos strikes me as a good listener," Aramis said. "And if he was willing to follow you down here on a whim then he must care about you."

Porthos nodded reluctantly. "You're right. I should talk to him."

"And I'm always willing to pop in for a chat if you're on your own," Aramis offered. "I guess there'll be times when Athos is away a lot? Promotional tours and stuff?"

"Yeah." Porthos sighed. "I never thought being on my own would get to me so much."

"You could get a dog?"

"I think Athos is more of a cat person."

Aramis laughed. "Get a cat then. It'd be company, at least."

"Maybe you're right." Porthos mustered a smile. "Another cup of tea?"

"Wouldn't say no."

"Not wasting the tax payer’s money am I?"

Aramis stretched, and smiled. "Think of it as community outreach."

\--

Having had a chance to lay out his troubles to a sympathetic ear Porthos spent the rest of the day in a better frame of mind, but when it came time to go to bed his uneasiness returned.

Without Athos next to him the bedding felt cold almost to the point of dampness, and the silence seemed to press in with the darkness. Outside a wind had got up and started a tree branch scratching and knocking against the window, repeatedly jerking him awake every time he started to drop off. 

Weighing up the options, Porthos finally concluded getting dressed again and trying to saw off a branch in the pitch dark while it was blowing a gale was deeply undesirable. Instead he pulled the covers up over his head and curled up into a ball for warmth, determined to ignore all further noises until he could deal with them in daylight.

\--

In the morning, bleary from his disturbed night Porthos located the pruning saw and walked all round the caravan intending to make sure he wasn't kept awake in the same way again.

It was only then he realised with a chill the caravan was positioned a fair way from the hedge. There _were_ no trees within touching distance of any of the windows.

\--


	4. Chapter 4

Athos returned just before lunch, and any lingering resentment Porthos may have harboured at being left behind faded away when Athos was loudly complimentary about the amount of work Porthos had done in his absence.

"I'll have to leave you to your own devices more often," Athos teased.

"Not likely."

"Does that mean you missed me?"

"It means I ain't doing your half of the work, so don't get any ideas," Porthos grumbled. "Besides, I needed you in bed. There was nothing to put my cold feet on."

"I'll buy you a hot water bottle. You might have to get used to it, I've got to go up again next week."

"Again?" Porthos stared at him, bristling with renewed annoyance.

"Yes, again," Athos echoed, looking frustrated. "You know what it's like coming up to publication."

"Do I?"

"Well maybe you've just never noticed before."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Oh for God's sake, I wasn't - look, if we were still in London a meeting would take a couple of hours, that's all. You'd probably have been at the restaurant and wouldn't've even known I'd gone. All I'm saying is that until we get everything sorted out here so I can do stuff online, these meetings are going to take a day or so out of my schedule. You can cope without me for twenty four hours can't you?"

"Yeah, that's not the point."

"Do I need to remind you that we need this book to be a success if you want to be able to afford half the things you want to do with this place?"

Porthos looked abruptly like he'd been slapped, and it took Athos a second to work out what he'd said wrong. 

"The things _we_ want to do with the place," he amended softly, reaching across to take Porthos' hands in his.

"You still want to?" Porthos checked.

"Of course I do." Athos frowned. "Don't you? Porthos if you're having second thoughts, for God's sake speak up now before every penny we own gets sunk into this place."

"I'm not, I promise. It's just - not much fun here without you," Porthos said quietly. "And if I'm honest - it was really spooky here last night. It was like something was trying to get in." 

"Like what?"

"How should I know?" Porthos suddenly made an unpleasant connection. "There's another thing. Aramis was here yesterday, he said our skeleton wasn't murdered. That he'd walled himself up. What if something was trying to get at him? That he was hiding from some - some - " He faltered, unable to hazard a guess as to what kind of thing might be so hideous that the prospect of a long slow death in the dark was better than falling prey to it.

Athos had listened to all this in silence with a look of increasing consternation on his face. 

"Right. That's it. Get your coat and come with me," he declared, in a tone that brooked no argument.

"Where are we going?" Porthos protested, following him automatically but afraid that having expressed his fears he was about to be bundled into the car back to London, possibly by way of the estate agent. 

But Athos walked past the car and down into the lane, looking back only to make sure Porthos was behind him.

"Pub."

\--

Settled on a leather sofa in a nook near the log fire, Porthos finally began to feel somewhat better about things. Athos came back from the bar and handed him a pint, sitting down close enough that they were touching. 

"Sorry," Porthos murmured, leaning gratefully against Athos' shoulder. 

"Are you okay?" Athos asked, just as quietly. "What's going on Porthos? This isn't like you. You don't really believe the place is haunted do you?"

Porthos shook his head. "I don't know what to think. I guess not. I'm just being daft. Don't mind me." 

It took another two pints before he finally confided everything he'd said to Aramis the previous day. To his relief Athos was minded to be sympathetic, although he admitted he was at a loss to know how to help.

"I guess we could spend a little more on paying builders to help with the works, so there's more bodies on site when I'm not there," he suggested, hastily amending this with a stifled laugh to "people, not - bodies," when Porthos shuddered. "That would get us up and running faster as well. Having an income from the place sooner might offset the increased outlay." He poked Porthos in the leg. "You're the businessman. I just write the happy endings. Look at the figures, see if it looks viable."

"And if it doesn't?" Porthos asked gloomily. They were operating on a shoestring already, and they both knew it.

Athos kissed him. "Do it anyway."

\--

It turned out the only contractor they could get at short notice before Athos went away again was a team of landscapers, but after a certain amount of debate they concluded it would be money well spent. After all, if they were going to attract paying visitors, the place would have to look appealing from the outside as well.

Over the next few days they watched as the team set to work clearing some of the rough grass and seeding a proper lawn to the front, constructing some raised beds for Porthos to grow herbs and vegetables for the kitchen, and started building a drystone wall to shelter part of the courtyard, creating a suntrap seating area protected from the winds that whistled up the valley.

Work also started on digging out a channel below the pond, with the eventual intention of draining it. Athos was still hopeful of finding a nearby water source that might give them an actual stream running through the garden, but either way they'd agreed they needed to get rid of the stinking green water sooner rather than later.

All was progressing well until the morning Athos was due to leave for his meeting. About to head out, he picked up a message on his phone that had been left the night before, the patchy reception meaning the original call hadn't got through. It wasn't good news, and he went to find Porthos.

"They've had an emergency call out. Apparently a sink hole's opened up in someone's garden over the way, and they've had to help deal with it. Won't be able to get to us again till tomorrow."

"Never mind. I'll be fine."

"I could cancel - " Athos offered, but Porthos shook his head firmly. 

"No, don't be daft. You go. You have to. It's not a problem."

"Are you sure?" Athos glanced distractedly into the car to make sure his overnight bag and laptop were safely stowed in the front, then turned to hug Porthos goodbye. "Call me if you need to."

"Go," Porthos insisted, kissing him warmly. "I'll see you tomorrow morning."

He waved until the car was out of sight, then set his shoulders and headed into the house. 

\--

A couple of miles down the road Athos took a corner marginally too fast and was abruptly confronted by a lane frothing with sheep. He slammed to a halt and beside him the laptop bag shot off the passenger seat into the footwell. 

_"Shit."_

Athos winced, then looked puzzled. The slap it had made hitting the deck had been far lighter than it should have been. Reaching down to retrieve it, his fears were confirmed. It was just the bag.

Belatedly he recalled plugging in the laptop to charge at the back of the caravan; couldn't remember unplugging it again. 

"Balls." He banged his head repeatedly on the steering wheel in frustration. He'd have to go back, no point in having the meeting without his work. Except now he was surrounded by sheep who seemed in no hurry to get on with the business of passing him. 

Way back behind the flock he could see two figures and a dog slowly urging them forward, but there was a whole lot of aimless cotton wool seething back and forth in the intervening space. Athos turned his engine off with a sigh, and sat back to wait.

\--

Left alone in the house Porthos had expected to be nervous, but the sun was shining, he could hear birdsong and the distant bleat of sheep, and it felt like nothing bad could possibly happen on a day like this. Talking openly about his misgivings had given him a certain amount of confidence back, as had the fact nothing untoward had happened for a whole week.

Consequently, when he first heard the whispering his reaction was one of puzzlement rather than fear. 

It certainly didn't feel like it was in his head, but when he stopped what he was doing to listen properly there was nothing to hear. He was about to resume work when there came an unmistakeable scampering of footsteps from the hallway.

Porthos put down his things and stepped to the door, determined to solve this once and for all. 

"Who's there?"

The only answer was a peal of laughter, and another patter of light footsteps.

"I know you're there." Porthos half-smiled, the giggle was light and infectious as if the unseen owner knew she was teasing him. "You can come out. I won't hurt you."

More footsteps, but running away rather than coming towards him. Porthos followed, out of the front door and into the yard. "Where are you?"

Was that a flash of movement in the corner of his eye? A green dress perhaps, just darting out of sight around the corner. 

Encouraged by this evidence that whatever he was chasing was flesh and blood after all Porthos hurried after, determined this time to get a good look at her if only to prove he hadn't been imagining things. 

Round the end of the barn and into the stables. Dust motes dancing in the sunlight, as if recently disturbed. Somewhere a shutter banged, and Porthos heard the laugh again, this time from out in the yard.

"How did you - ?" He ran outside again, confused as to how she'd got behind him.

The yard was deserted. He suddenly wished that Athos was there, or Aramis, or - somebody. He hated the fact that this only happened when he was alone, hated the idea that his mind might be playing tricks on him after all.

"Por-thos." 

He whirled round, but there was nothing to see. But that had been his name, called clearly and distinctly, the voice young and female. A sense of weak relief washed over him, that this wasn't in his head.

"Where _are_ you?" 

"Catch me if you can." That laugh again, and a flash of green, this time round the side of the house. 

"Hey!" Porthos took off at a run, seized by a sudden cold fear. That path ended abruptly at the pond, and he knew the edges were treacherously slippery, the water deep and clogged with rotting weed. 

"Hey, wait, come back. It's not safe." He dashed after her, feet threatening to slide out from under him where the path ran under the shadow of the house and everything was still wet with morning dew. 

Porthos finally glimpsed a figure just ahead of him, ducking under the willows. It was a little girl, just as he'd pictured her, and it must have been the shadow cast by the trees that made her hair look as green as her dress.

"Please don't go any further," he begged, trying to keep his balance on the muddy grass that had been churned up here by the groundworkers tracking back and forth with their wheelbarrow. "It's dangerous - "

There was a shriek, and a splash. Porthos hurled himself forwards, pushing through the trees. The surface of the water was still rippling, but too murky to show what lay beneath. He seized a fistful of weeping willow hoping it would take his weight, and leaned over to plunge his other arm into the pond. Having no idea how deep it was, he didn't dare jump in after in case he landed on top of her.

Groping blindly in the slimy water, his hand brushed something solid and he made a grab for it. Something coiled tightly around his hand and he pulled upwards, feeling whatever it was rising from the depths like a cork from a bottle.

With an eruption of foul smelling water _something_ surfaced, but rather than the terrified little girl he'd been expecting, this was green-skinned and yellow-eyed, with a face full of needle-sharp teeth.

It hissed in triumph, wrapping its disturbingly childlike arms around his neck and trying to sink its teeth into him. In trying to simultaneously push it off and scramble away from the pond, Porthos let go of his hold on the tree.

With a startled yell he fell forward into the pond, the creature still clamped around him, furiously attempting to close its teeth in his exposed throat.

Thrashing in the cold water and trying desperately not to swallow any, Porthos hammered at the thing in a panic. Despite its size it had a deceptive strength, and he was swiftly dragged under. Porthos though was pretty strong himself, and when his flailing hand grabbed hold of a root protruding from the bank he managed to haul himself back into the air long enough to suck in a breath. 

Twice more he went under and twice more he managed to thresh his way back to the surface, but his strength was failing and the roots he'd been clutching at were shredding under his fingers. Porthos knew with a dull sense of realisation that the next time it pulled him down he wouldn't come up again.

Just as Porthos was giving up hope, something speared down through the water in front of him and transfixed the creature through its shoulder. It screamed in rage and pain, a high-pitched blast of fury that hurt Porthos' ears even through the water, but for a moment its hold on him loosened.

At the same time something grabbed him by the jumper and hauled upwards, transferring its grip to his hands as he reached out blindly in hope of salvation.

Coughing and spluttering he sprawled on the bank, wiping trails of pond slime from his face until he could blurrily make out his rescuer. 

Athos, panting with exertion and wide-eyed horror, sitting next to him in the mud.

"What the fuck was that thing?"

For a moment Porthos couldn't speak, and Athos grabbed his arm. "Are you hurt?"

Porthos managed to shake his head, still coughing in revulsion. "What did you hit it with?" he croaked.

"Pitchfork." It had disappeared into the depths with the creature. Athos stared at the water's surface, once more smooth and impenetrable. "Not the most appealing place for a paddle, I'd have thought. What the hell were you doing?"

"It was the little girl. I saw her Athos," Porthos insisted. "I saw her. I thought she'd fallen in."

"Is someone still in there?" asked Athos, sitting up in alarm, but Porthos shook his head miserably. 

"That thing - it _was_ her. It was a trap. She lured me close and then - pounced." Porthos shook his head, baffled and uneasy. "What was it? I mean, it wasn't an animal, was it? Not a normal one."

"If I had to hazard a guess - a nixie."

"You what?" 

"Water spirit," Athos said absently, staring unblinkingly at the suspiciously calm surface, like a cat before a mouse hole. 

"A what now? Did someone just fail to tell me that's a thing?" Porthos spluttered indignantly, and Athos smiled.

"Well - no. I mean - they're not real." He sighed. "At least - they shouldn't be. If I hadn't seen it with my own eyes - " he tailed off. The sight that had confronted him as he'd rounded the corner, of some green-skinned nightmare trying to drown his husband would stay with him forever. "They don't like iron," he said distantly. "I read that somewhere. Fairy creatures."

"I'm fairly sure being stabbed with a pitchfork would upset me an' all," Porthos pointed out. "And I'm not a fairy." Athos looked sideways at him, and Porthos snorted with tired laughter. "Don't say it."

A sudden splash from the pool made them flinch and Porthos pulled Athos down just in time as the pitchfork head sailed over their head to clank loudly against the wall of the house. Athos picked it up. The shaft had been broken off, and there were what looked worryingly like teethmarks in the wood.

"What do we do?" Porthos asked finally. "I mean - she's still in there. We can't just leave it. She might eat the workmen."

"Then let's flush her out. Literally." Athos got to his feet and grabbed a spade left behind by the landscapers. With a burst of furious energy he started attacking the bank, where the workmen had already made inroads into the compacted earth. 

It wasn't long before water started trickling out over the lip. This rapidly became a wholesale gush as the force of the flow washed out more of the bank. Athos stepped back out of the way then aimed his spade at another section, only to fall back in alarm as the enraged creature exploded from under the surface and flew at him.

He staggered, trying to fend it off. Razor sharp claws slashed at his eyes and he jerked backwards, losing his footing in the pouring water and going down hard. She was on top of him now, and despite the fact she looked mostly human she was writhing like a snake or a fish, and he couldn't get a firm hold. 

Ragged teeth were inches from his throat, and he was fighting for his life. Up close he could see the gleam of hatred in the yellow eyes, and hair like strands of weed plastered over a rotting scalp tumbled revoltingly into his face, where he felt it start squirming into his mouth and nose.

Somewhere close at hand there was a roar from Porthos, and as Athos fought to keep it from biting him he suddenly saw the blade of the shovel slice right through the nixie's throat. 

There was a frozen second, then its face seemed to contort. As Athos watched, it went from startled adult to small pleading child to ancient snarling hag in an instant, then abruptly turned completely to water, bursting over Athos in an unpleasantly warm shower.

Then she was gone, and rather numbly he accepted Porthos' hand up. 

Porthos looked from Athos to the shovel still clutched defensively in his hand, and shrugged.

"You said they don't like iron." 

Feeling somewhat poleaxed, they watched the rest of the water drain away, Porthos still brandishing the shovel just in case. As the final levels poured away something else came to light, half buried in the glutinous mud at the bottom. 

Another skeleton.

"What the hell?" 

"Now I reckon _that's_ Aramis' missing market gardener," Porthos said. "He never did a midnight flit after all. He's been here all along."

"Yes." They stood in silence for a moment, staring down at the skeleton, then Athos shook himself. "Come on. We need a shower. We'll feel better with less slime all over us."

\--

As the caravan's tiny cubicle was too small to shower together they had to clean up separately. When Porthos finally came out he found Athos sitting on the bed still wrapped in his towel, looking through a book on British Folklore.

"Jenny Greenteeth," Athos said, holding up a page for Porthos to look at.

"Who?" The illustration didn't look much like the thing they'd encountered, but there were certain similarities. Green skin, big teeth, murderous look in the eye. 

"Jenny Greenteeth. A kind of elemental maybe. Lurks in ditches, luring the unwary to a watery death." Athos shrugged. "If we were in Greece I guess it'd be called a naiad." 

"All those posh paintings never showed the teeth," Porthos complained. "Here, why did she change shape? She went from a little girl monster to an adult when she was throttling you."

"Maybe it was just a defence thing." Athos thought about it for a second. "Or maybe - maybe it was a lure thing."

"I hope you're not suggesting I like little girls," Porthos growled, and Athos snorted.

"No. Just the opposite. You don't like girls - women - at all. So you were never going to tempted into a pond by one, however beautiful and slippery." Porthos made a face and he laughed. "So she lured you in another way. Made you think a child was in danger. Got through your defences."

"She was all woman for you," Porthos said, with a sideways glance at him. 

"I've had girlfriends," Athos admitted with a shrug. "You know that." He sidled closer again, and planted a kiss on Porthos' cheek. "None of them were part fish though. And besides, I married you, in case you've forgotten."

Porthos' rather grumpy expression softened into a smile. "No regrets?"

"Not a single one." 

"Do you still want to stay here?"

"Don't you?"

"Yeah, I do," Porthos nodded slowly. "But I'd understand if the whole thing'd put you off the place."

Athos shook his head. "We've put such a lot of work in it'd be madness to give up at this stage, we'd never get our money back. I say we stay. We make it work."

Porthos nodded, relieved. "I guess we should call Aramis," he mused. "Tell him we've found his missing tenant."

"He'll keep. He's been down there for years, another hour or so won't hurt," Athos said. "I guess this explains our friend in the wall too. He must have known she was after him. Walled himself in so she couldn't get at him. A preferable death to what waited for him down there. Or maybe she just waited him out. Stayed outside until he starved."

"That's horrible."

"Yes." Athos was silent for a second. "I owe you an apology," he said finally, leaning against Porthos' shoulder. 

"You do?" Porthos looked at him in surprise. Neither of them had ever been particularly good at apologising, but in this instance he couldn't actually think of anything for Athos to be sorry for.

"You kept telling me you heard her, and I didn't believe you," Athos said softly. "I was getting worried about you," he admitted. "I should have given you more credit. Asked more questions."

"Given you just saved my life, I guess I'll let it pass," Porthos told him with a grin. "Thank God you came back. Why did you?"

"Forgot my laptop. When I got out the car, I heard you yelling." Athos smiled back at him. "Anyway you saved my life too, so I guess we're even."

"Do you mean I owe my life to the fact you're scatty as fuck?" Porthos huffed, starting to laugh. 

"Looks like it."

"You're going to be really late for your meeting," Porthos pointed out.

"I'll call them. Reschedule. I'm not leaving you on your own here. When I do go, you should come with me."

Porthos was relieved, but also concerned.

"We are coming back though, right?"

"Of course. I'm not letting an overgrown frog with a bad attitude chase me out of my home. Besides, I don't think there's any danger here any more. Do you?"

Porthos shook his head. "It feels better, somehow. Less oppressive. But maybe it wouldn't hurt to step away for day or so." He grinned. "We could book a hotel. Have a dirty weekend."

"You do know I'll be working - " Athos broke off as Porthos insinuated his hand underneath the towel draped over his lap. "Oh I see how it is. Your weekend starts here does it?" 

"Any objections?" Porthos murmured, sensing Athos' silent laugh as he kissed his way slowly down his bicep.

"Oh no. I like this plan." Athos wrapped his arms around Porthos and pulled him down onto the bed. "This might be the best crazy plan you've had yet." 

\--


End file.
